Dark Birthday
by Eldrice
Summary: A boy wakes on his 11th birthday to discover he's born to the Dark. What's it like to ride at the peak of the Dark tornado, to be hounded by Herne, to act as the eyes of the Grey King? Sebastian Bligh knows, and this is his story. COMPLETE.
1. Midwinter's Eve

**DARK BIRTHDAY, by Eldrice**

**Standard Disclaimers Apply:** _The Dark is Rising Universe_ belongs solely to Susan Cooper.

**A/N: **I'm sorry that I haven't updated my other TDIR WIP for months. It's not that I've forgotten it, but that I decided some time ago that it could be much better and needs to be heavily revised – and shortened. I also want to have it substantially completed before I begin posting again, so that's something that will probably have to wait until summer, when I have large chunks of devotable time.

This story, meanwhile, will be rather short and is already completely plotted out and mostly written. I expect to update every week or so. There will be six chapters: two dealing with my main character's birthday, and the following four presenting separate vignettes from _TDIR_, _Greenwitch_, _The Grey King_, and _SOTT_. And although the first two chapters deal primarily with Sebastian, I promise that characters such as Will, Merriman, Bran, the Black Rider, and the Grey King will have quite substantial…cameos…very soon.

Although any and all feedback is always welcomed, I would particularly appreciate help with any incorrect or misused "British"-isms.

**CHAPTER ONE**

**I.**

"Outta the way, Sebastian," Billy drawled. "You're blockin' the telly."

"Sorry, Billy, but I just need these books for – "

"_Move_!" Billy screamed.

Sebastian moved.

Pressing a history text to his chest, he huddled down into a battered armchair. His older brother, sprawled upon a floral chintz sofa with his head cushioned upon one folded arm, cursed as he flicked through the channels.

"Damn machine," he muttered. "Reception's off again. Biggest match of the year, and all I get is static."

"Maybe I can fix it, Billy," Sebastian offered, standing and scurrying over to the box. He began to fiddle with the rabbit ears, twisting them this way and that. "Sometimes, if you're just patient with it, you can find a good signal and – "

The television emitted a screeching caterwaul. Sebastian reflexively covered his ears and jumped back.

"Bloody hell, Sebastian!" Billy shouted, throwing a slipper at him. "Yer fuckin' useless. Get outta here."

Sebastian fled to the kitchen. The formica table under the fluorescent light was generally a safe refuge, where he could complete his school work in relative peace.

Not tonight.

The staccato clicking of heels announced his mother's approach.

"Oh, Sebastian love," she said, bending down through a cloud of perfume to kiss him. She straightened, licked her thumb, and used the spit to wipe away the smear of lipstick she'd deposited on his cheek. "You'll have to go to Mr. Mirks' tonight. I have a gentleman caller coming by. You know Gregory Billings, don't you?"

Sebastian nodded. Gregory Billings was the bouncer at the downstairs bar. He made lewd comments at every schoolgirl who walked past.

The two wineglasses in her fumblinghands made empty clinking noises as she retrievied a bottle of wine from the shelf. "Well, Gregory and I are going to watch the telly together tonight, Sebastian, and it'll be nice to have some adult time, you know? Just us, for once."

"All right, Mum. I'll go."

His mother's head whirled towards the parlor. "Billy!" she screeched. "Did ye hear that? Your arse better be off that sofa in twenty minutes, or else!"

"Else what?"

"Don't give me your cheek, boy. With all the headaches and problems you give me, the least you could do is – "

"Stuff it, Mum. You think I want to stay here for the snog fest? Christ, I'd rather watch mold grow...less disgusting. Anyway, my shift starts in thirty minutes. Can you keep your lips to yourself 'til then?"

His mother spluttered. "You little snot, how dare you talk to me like that! Take it back right now, Billy, I swear, or I'll – "

The sound of the slamming door was Billy's only response.

Sebastian had quietly gathered his books together and shrugged into his jacket. His shoes were next to the fridge, and he fumbled at the laces as he pulled them on. He'd left the kitchen and was almost to the flat door when –

"Oh, Sebastian, wait just a sec, love!"

He turned and focused his gaze on the strand of bleach-blonde hair that his mother was twirling around one finger as she stood in the kitchen doorway.

"You didn't think I'd forgotten, did you?" she asked teasingly. "Your birthday's tomorrow, isn't it?"

Sebastian grunted, although a small smile threatened to turn up one corner of his mouth.

His mother winked at him. "The big eleven. Well, we'll do something real special this year, honest. Maybe burgers over at _Millie's_? And forget Billy. You can watch whatever you want on the telly tomorrow, I promise. It's all yours."

Sebastian loathed television. "Thanks, Mum," he replied. "That'll be real nice." And he quietly closed the door behind him.

**II.**

Sebastian Bligh had lived with his mother and brother in a seedy London flat for the entirety of his ten living years. He'd been taught many things in that time. A quick learner, he knew every curse word and all their colorful connotations by the age of five. Physically, he was adept at dodging the trajectory missiles his brother launched in his direction. And he knew that asking about his father would only make his mother weep and pull out her hidden bottle of gin.

Sebastian also knew that bad things happened when he talked too much. His brother found his voice irksome, and Sebastian usually had any number of black and blue pinch marks under his jumper to prove the fact. As for his mother, she tended to look vague and wander away whenever he spoke, mumbling, "Headache, love. I think I'll just go lie down for a sec."

All things considered, his world was most tolerable when he just kept silent and pretended he wasn't there, enacting scenarios of mischief merely in his imagination. At school, even though he always got the best marks, he spoke only when spoken to, although he sometimes put worms in the other students' lunches and silently laughed to himself when he heard the horrified squeals of discovery. But his teachers tended to let him go his own way. Everyone did.

Everyone, of course, except for Mr. Mirks.

Although his mother had effectively banished him for the evening, Sebastian walked down the apartment building's hall with an almost cheerful step. Lights on the ceiling emitted a sickly orange light, which gave his dark hair a Halloween glow. He'd lived in this building his whole life, which was forever as far as he was concerned, so he didn't notice that the walls were covered with dingy grey wallpaper and were saturated with the stench of damp cigarette smoke.

He hesitated only a secondat Mr. Mirks' door before knocking.

"Who's there?" an annoyed voice growled. "I'm busy."

"It's me...Sebastian. May I come in?"

The door flew open, and a large man stood there beaming. He reached out and dropped one chubby arm around the small boy's shoulders. "Sebastian!" he cried merrily. "I should've known! Of course you'd stop by, tonight being what it is. Come in, lad, come in."

Sebastian smiled and let himself be pulled into Mr. Mirks' flat, his favorite place in the world. The parlor held several overstuffed chairs, and bookshelves lined almost every free inch of wall space. He'd spent many weekends there simply curled up reading. If books didn't occupy a space, some odd and amazing artifact from a distant corner of the globe did. Mr. Mirks had once been an explorer. There was an ivory elephant tusk, and chunks of ruby coral from the south seas. Sebastian's favorite, though, was the deliciously gruesome collection of shrunken heads.

"I'm sorry to bother you, sir," he apologized. "But my Mum's having company tonight, and she wondered whether I could stay with you for awhile?"

Mr. Mirks arched one eyebrow down at the boy. "Company, eh? Is it that Billings bloke again? Well, well."

Sebastian stared down at his shoes and tried not to blush. A familiar feeling of shame and resentment settled in his chest.

"But of course you can stay, lad," Mr. Mirks said hurriedly, not waiting for a response. "And you never need an excuse, either. You're always welcome. Now come, let's get you some tea."

"Thank you, sir."

Ushered into the cozy kitchen, Sebastian perched upon a stool and watched as Mr. Mirks bustled about, pulling down cups and whistling as he arranged numerous pastries on a platter. The radio was turned on, and Sebastian found himself tapping his foot in time to a rollicking, manic fiddle piece.

"I'm awfully glad you visited tonight, lad," Mr. Mirks huffed, bending down to check the flame under the kettle. "It gets mighty lonesome here for an old man living all by himself."

Sebastian nodded. "Well, I like coming here, sir," he confessed. "But what did you mean earlier?"

"Eh?" Mr. Mirks asked, blinking at him over a pair of bifocals.

"When I first arrived. You said something strange, that you should've known I'd be stopping by tonight. But how could you know that?"

"Ah," Mr. Mirks said, and a strange, inscrutable look that Sebastian didn't recognize came over his face. "Well, it's your birthday tomorrow, lad, right? Eleven? An important day. Midwinter's Day, too, of course."

"Yes, but what does that have to do with anything?"

"Oh, nothing."

"But then, why – ?"

"Sebastian! You ask too many questions. And here I am, forced to give you your birthday present early."

"Oh!" Sebastian blurted, his face flushed. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to – "

Mr. Mirks laughed. "Never mind." He reached up and fished with one arm around a cabinet, finally pulling out a large, squishy package wrapped in brown paper. He smiled so broadly that his teeth seemed to get in the way of the kind words. "Here you go. Happy birthday."

Pleased, Sebastian took the package in his arms, balancing it against his chest. He threw it on the table and fumbled with the strings holding it together, tearing them apart greedily. The paper fell away and revealed a soft brown material brown.

"What in the world…?" Sebastian muttered, holding his present up to the kitchen light.

"It's a coat," Mr. Mirks said. "Genuine beaver fur. Here, feel it."

Awed, Sebastian ran his hand down the silky fur, his fingers delicately dancing around the large buttons. Holding the coat chest high, it fell in golden brown ripples clear to the floor. He'd never seen something so luxurious before.

Mr. Mirks sniffed. "That jacket you've been wearing for three years now is shameful. You'll be needing something better against the coming cold, something more worthy of your position."

"Thank you, sir," Sebastian breathed, eyes shining. "It's…stunning."

Mr. Mirks magically produced two further gifts while he finished preparing tea: a matching fur hat and leather gloves. Sebastian, the new owner of such fine garments, felt himself swelling with gratified pride as he laid them carefully beside his new coat. When the tea was ready, the boy and man each took a seat facing each other at the small wooden table, which was scored and marked with years of use. One of Sebastian's favorite pastimes was to simply sit at that table and follow the scrolls and lines with his eyes, until it seemed that they came alive with a meaning of their own.

He sipped at his cup, relishing the warmth that spread from nose to toes. Mr. Mirks, heavy-lidded eyes drooping, sighed in contentment, munched on some biscuits, and vaguely asked Sebastian about school.

"Oh, it's all right," Sebastian shrugged, muttering through a mouthful of pasty. "Pretty easy, and the other students are fairly dim. I don't have to pay much attention to beat them and get the top marks."

"Well done, lad!" Mr. Mirks congratulated him.

Sebastian gulped his tea. "We did have an interesting speaker the other day though. An Oxford professor. Came to tell us all about Arthurian legend. Funny looking old man he was: very tall, very grave, never smiled. None of his stories made any sense, though, with magic and all that rot. Complete nonsense, of course. But he was very polite when I asked him some questions afterwards, trying to trip him up."

Engrossedby his tea,Sebastian didn't see the horrible pallor that passed over Mr. Mirks' face, the twisted grimace that contorted his smile as hewatched the small boy seated across from him. But Mr. Mirks was experienced and wise, and thus able to swiftly cover his hatred, so that when Sebastian looked up again, all he saw on the face of his old friend was lazy interest.

"Tell me, Sebastian," Mr. Mirks said craftily, steering the conversation to a more appropriate subject. "Does your mother know how intelligent you are, how far you fly above your fellow schoolmates?"

Sebastian laughed bitterly. "She doesn't notice anything about me, sir."

"But your teachers? Your older brother? Surely, they – "

Sebastian shook his head. No one had ever bothered.

Mr. Mirks smashed a beefy fist upon the table, setting the tea crockery clattering. "Well, blast it, boy! Isn't there anyone who appreciates you?"

Sebastian stared at the table and twisted a napkin in one hand. "Well…_you_ do, sir," he said quietly.

A slow smile spread over Mr. Mirks face. "Aye, lad," he said. "That I do. You're special, you know. And one day, you'll be recognized for it."

Sebastian grinned. He'd always felt that way, as if it was merely a matter of time before he became…someone. Someone important, someone that people couldn't ignore. Still, he kept his voice carefully nonchalant. "Maybe…but not for a long time yet."

"Oh, I don't know, Sebastian," Mr. Mirks winked at him. "Your moment may come sooner than you imagine. In fact, it might be right around the corner."

**III. **

Sebastian used his key to let himself back into the flat sometime after midnight. Billings was gone, but his mother was snoring on the sofa, one arm hanging off and clutching a television remote. The set was muted, but the screen flickered an eerie blue and green in the room's darkness.

A sigh heavy as stone escaped him. "Dammit." He could smell the alcohol even from the door. "Happy birthday, Sebastian," he whispered sullenly, throwing his key on the table.

Any other night, he would've tiptoed to his mother's side, carefully disengaged the remote from her fingers, turned off the television, and made sure she had a coverlet to keep her warm. Tonight, though, as the wind shrieked through the cracks in the windows and an unseasonably early snow fell upon London, he felt only an icy indifference toward the woman who had love for none but herself. Something cold crawled into his heart and told him to stop being naïve and to recognize the truth.

"Why should I bother with her?" he muttered. "Nothing good will come of it for me." And with his arms overloaded with Mr. Mirks' beautiful gifts, Sebastian staggered down a hall to the room he shared with Billy, and fell asleep.


	2. Midwinter's Morning

**DARK BIRTHDAY, by Eldrice**

**Standard Disclaimers Apply:** The Dark is Rising Universe belongs solely to Susan Cooper

**Non-standard Disclaimers:** I always feel compelled to credit authors that I've taken...well...indirect inspiration from. The idea of climbing a tower forever, of course, comes from McKinley's _The Hero and the Crown_, and the idea of watching blackness spread in a night sky can come from no source other than L'Engle's _A Wrinkle in Time_. Two truly amazing books that I've internalized far more than is good for me.

**A/N: **This is only half of what was originally going to be just one chapter, but which grew large enough that I felt it deserved to be split into two. And just like that, my nice, significant six chapter format is ruined. Bah humbug. Anyway, there are probably several nagging questions this chapter will leave readers. Why can't Sebastian immediately understand the Dark's language? What's the deal with his name? And doesn't this girl know that supernovas leave a glow that doesn't vanish immediately? (I do know that, but I can't resist changing the silly laws of astrophysics to fit my storylines.) I feel bad leaving these questions unanswered, I hadn't planned on it, but I promise that the next chapter will provide reasonable explanations. Well, maybe not reasonable, but...

**Chapter 2: Midwinter's Morning**

**I.**

He was woken by silence. It was a complete and utter stillness, a quiet that spoke of alien worlds. Sebastian had never before heard such a lack of noise in London, where cars drove the streets day and night and the city literally hummed with life. That humming was gone. He frowned in his sleep, listening for it, and woke.

His eyes opened slowly, as if weighed down by the silence. Rolling over and kicking the covers off, he saw that his brother's bed was empty and undisturbed. He snorted, unsurprised. Billy stayed out all night more often than not.

Light streamed through the small, dusty window. Blinking, he wriggled his arms through a natty robe and stuffed his feet into his slippers. He shuffled over to the window, yawned, and looked outside.

And gasped with amazement.

Overnight, London had been transformed into a fairytale land. Glittering snow lay heaped everywhere, piled on balconies and atop cars. A powdery cap topped each streetlight, and the unplowed streets looked like vast rivers of white rippling through soft canyons. Everything looked larger, more grand in its stillness and silence. Sebastian blinked and shielded his pale eyes from the flood of light reflecting off all that brightness.

"Mum!" he called, his eyes fixed upon the still and perfect world. A rare excitement was bubbling through him. "Oh, Mum, come and look! It snowed for my birthday! _Really_ snowed!"

There was no answer, not even a grunt telling him to be quiet and go back to bed, so Sebastian whirled and flew towards the parlor, robe billowing behind him.

The television was still on, and his mother lay just where he'd left her, the air whistling slightly through her open mouth as she breathed. With a slight pain of guilt – _she's probably cold_ – Sebastian knelt down and gently shook her shoulder. There was no response, so he shook her harder. Still nothing.

"Mum?" Sebastian whispered, urgently now. Panic flashed through him for just a second, before he told himself to stop being silly. Clearly, she was still breathing, and it wouldn't be the first time she'd simply passed out. They'd played that 'game' when he was young. Weeping, he'd try to rouse her from wherever it was she'd limply fallen. When she'd finally wake, she'd pretend it was a joke.

"It's just pretend, silly Sebastian," she'd chuckle, weakly pushing herself up. "I wasn't really sleeping. I was just seeing how long I could make you _think_ I was. I got you pretty good that time, huh? Ha ha."

Sebastian had never liked that game.

But that was all a long time ago. He wasn't a child anymore.

He stood quietly, all his senses tingling. There was…something off. He felt strange, as if something was tugging at him, trying to capture his attention. His narrowed eyes scanned the room. Ah, yes, there it was.

The television, although the power remained turned on, had stopped. The face of the morning news anchor stared at him with blank, unmoving eyes, and her mouth hung open, halted in mid-sentence. He approached the box slowly, fingers outstretched to lightly touch the static screen. Sebastian knew of nothing that could've done this, and he immediately forgot all about the woman sleeping behind him, except for the fact that she inexplicably could not be woken.

"Everything's stopped," he murmured, the realization coming to him slowly, yet forcefully. It was a bizarre thought, but he _knew_ it was true. "Even Time. That's why everything is so quiet, why Mum won't wake. I'm the only person up in the whole city."

His breath began to roar in and out of his chest as he was flooded with a new feeling of empowerment. And although he had been scoffing at the possibility of magic just the night before, he immediately accepted all the strangeness of this Midwinter's morning without question. "I'm alone," he whispered almost gleefully. "I can do…whatever I want!"

He suddenly remembered the fur coat, hat, and gloves that had been put away last night in his closet. The remembrance caused him to whistle in amazement.

Mr. Mirks. Had – had he _known_? What was it he'd said? _Of course you'd stop by, tonight being what it is. Come in, lad, come in…You'll be needing something better against the coming cold…_

Sebastian shook his head and ran to his room to fetch the garments. He shrugged into the coat, marveling at its luxurious warmth. "Forget Mr. Mirks for now," he giggled, an inexplicable feeling of wonder and excitement burning through him. "I'm going to go explore!"

**II.**

He tumbled down the narrow apartment stairwell, through the main door, and down the steps that led to their street. With a shout and laugh, he plunged into the snow, which was soft and powdery enough that it flew up in clouds when he kicked at it.

"Hell-_oooooo_!" he hollered. His voice echoed, but there was no answer.

Grinning, Sebastian ran, heedless of direction. The snow made things difficult, pulling at his feet and refusing to give good traction. And he hadn't run long before he realized that not everything this morning was perfect. His thin-soled trainers did nothing to keep out the cold. His socks were soon soaked and icy, and a biting chill was sinking into his feet.

"Blast him!" Sebastian snarled, scowling down at his shoes. What good was a new coat and hat, if Mr. Mirks forgot something as simple and essential as boots?

Still, he shuffled on, stomping his feet in an effort to keep the blood flowing.

For awhile, Sebastian simply wandered the streets aimlessly. Slowly, however, he realized that he was seeking…something. It was like his feet on their own were deliberately making turns and selecting paths. He wasn't following anything he could hear or see, but something was tugging inside him, like a rope attached to his gut. The pulling strengthened, a Sebastian felt himself gripped by a sense of urgency. He ran faster.

The imaginary rope tightened wildly as he slid around a corner. And Sebastian knew then that he'd found whatever it was that had been drawing him.

He was just outside a small city park, a place he went to during the summer to lounge under the shady oak trees and sip at a cool drink. Today, however, the branches had no leaves, and the vendors selling ices and sandwiches were home sleeping. And where the summer fountain normally would've stood, a tower Sebastian had never seen before ripped up from the ground.

He skidded to a halt and stared gaping at the edifice. He'd never seen anything like it, not even in illustrated story books. The tower was a constructed from perfectly black stone, and there were no windows at all in its curving sides. The frost on its sides glistened in the sunlight. Large spikes encircled the roof, giving it a warlike appearance.

He approached with slow caution. The rope inside him had relaxed somewhat, but he could still feel it humming, ready to tighten again if he walked away. He reached the black tower and began circling it, one hand trailing along the stone, which was icy and smooth under his gloved fingers. Halfway around, he came upon a door carved in the tower's side, a wooden slab studded with iron. There was no handle. Without thinking, Sebastian placed his hand flat upon it and pushed.

The door opened easily. A breath of wind, smelling of spices and ancient parchment, rushed out and blew the hair from his forehead. Before him, a spiral staircase soared upwards into darkness.

Sebastian stared at the dark stairs, and, for the first time that day, fear gripped him. It looked so empty. The urge to turn and flee seized him. He wanted nothing more that to run home and bury his head in his pillow until his mother and the rest of the city woke. He could make himself hot chocolate.

He was just about to turn around, however, when a screaming pain shot through his feet. Sebastian's breath hissed through his teeth, but then the pain subsided into a dull, aching numbness. Then there was no pain at all. And Sebastian knew that he had no choice. If he didn't get out of the cold right away, he'd lose his feet to frostbite.

"Well, here goes nothing," he muttered, placing one tentative, throbbing foot upon the first tower step. He began to climb.

The light from outside faded quickly, and Sebastian soon found himself in complete darkness. Strangely, though, the fear left him as he climbed. Maybe it was the physical effort required, or maybe it was simply the enveloping blackness, which seemed more protective than threatening. Either way, his sense of adventure soon returned, and he climbed eagerly.

He climbed for what seemed like hours, days, years. His breath began to come hard, and he had to lean feebly upon the icy walls in order to keep dragging himself upwards. "I swear," he gasped, "there're more stairs _inside_ this tower than physically possible. I must've climbed several leagues by now."

But despite the exercise, he was overcome by cold. The pain in his feet was once again nearly unbearable. Each impact against the ground jarred his whole body. He was just doubting his ability to continue when he saw it: a soft grey light ahead of him on the stairs. With a glad cry, he stumbled forward.

He emerged into a cavernous domed room, flooded with candlelight. The transition from climbing to walking was so sudden that he fell weakly to his knees.

"Welcome, Sebastian Nathaniel Bligh," an amused voice greeted him. "Come in. And please, stand if you like. There's no need to kneel here."

The light mockery in the voice forced Sebastian to his feet. He stood and gazed about him in defiance. The round room he found himself in was violently plain, with nothing adorning the plain black walls except for the massive lamps that sent jagged shadows skidding across the glassy floor. Two silver thrones atop a dais were before him, both draped with a clothe that was the deep blue of an artist's midnight sky. Seated in the right throne – at Sebastian's left – was a tall, rather youngish man, with pale skin and blazing blue eyes. The light from a lantern swinging from the ceiling set the stands of red in his hair blazing. He wore a cloak of sky blue.

A woman sat at his left hand. Whether it was magic or something else, Sebastian could never remember afterwards what she looked like, whether she was fair or dark, slender or strong. All he remembered was the golden light that was shed from her white robes. But she smiled at him, and his head swam with adoration.

"My child," she whispered, sighing. Her voice set shivers of delight throughout Sebastian. It was a voice from his childhood, the voice he'd always imagined singing him to sleep each night. "It's good to see you. We've been waiting too long."

"H-hello," Sebastian stammered, exhaustion and cold making him weak. "I…I hope I'm not late?"

The man let out a snickering laugh, and Sebastian looked at him with immediate dislike. "That's a very foolish question, Sebastian," he chuckled, flicking a speck of dust from his robe. "You will not be asking such things soon."

Sebastian's ears perked at the sound of running water, and he looked further into the darkness behind the two thrones. The fountain that was usually found in the park stood there, sending jets of water high into the air before they came tumbling down into three raised tiers that rose to catch them. The water filled the tiers until it overflowed and ran tinkling into a massive stone basin. Unfortunately, there was no fire anywhere that he could see.

"I'm s-sorry," Sebastian chattered. "B-but my feet are quite cold, is there someplace I could w-warm them…?

The man and the woman exchanged questioning glances. The man nodded, and the woman said a single word in a language that Sebastian did not know. Warmth suddenly coursed through his limbs, warming all his extremities. Relieved of the burden of cold, he sighed and stood straighter, throwing his shoulders back in pride.

"Thank you," he said, doing his best to keep his voice strong and confident. "I walked quite some time to come here. And then I climbed for a very long time. Something called me. I assume it was you. And since you already know my name, I believe common politeness requires you to tell me yours."

The man smiled, all teeth, and Sebastian had the most uncomfortable feeling that he'd seen completely through his bravado and thought no more of it than he would a joke. Still, his reply was solemn. "The name you may call me by is Mitothin," he said. "For the purposes of our work together, that will suffice."

"And you may call me Mother, Sebastian," the lady said kindly. "I've been watching over you – and one other – for many years now."

"Watching over me?" Sebastian asked, wondering. "But then how come – ?"

"You were not to know it, child," came the patient reply. "It would've made certain things…complicated."

"Oh."

"But you've already been wrong about one thing today, Sebastian, even though it _is_ your eleventh birthday," Mitothin said, his voice rather smug. "We do not know your name. Not yet, at least."

"But you greeted me with it," Sebastian protested. "Sebastian Nathaniel Bligh. That's my name."

"In one sense only," the woman Sebastian was to call Mother said. "Hopefully, you'll have your true name when you leave us today. And that name no one will know…unless you chose to disclose or, or someone tears it from you forcibly."

"I don't understand."

"You're an Eternal, Sebastian," Mitothin said. "You're only partly human. To the extent that you are – or will be – something different, another name must serve from now on."

Sebastian grew dizzy. "What?" he whispered.

Mitothin laughed his strange laugh and stood with a flourish. He raised both arms to the ceiling, so that his robe billowed and snapped about him. "Look, Sebastian," he called in a strong, jubilant voice. "I will show you the potential of what you may become!"

A black wind suddenly roared through the chamber. Sebastian let out a cry and shielded his head with his arms. But the wind, he soon saw, howled only along the walls, leaving the center of the chamber untouched in a vortex of calm. Still, the black wind continued to pick up speed, until it was nearly a solid wall surrounding the three figures.

Mitothin was now chanting in an unknown language. Sebastian thought it sounded like an invocation, and he strained his ears in an effort to understand. His effort was futile. Try as he might, even though the words struck a chord deep within him, he could wrench no sense from them.

The wind rose to a final howling shriek, and then died suddenly, although the blackness remained. Heart pounding, lungs straining for breath, Sebastian stared fearfully into its inky darkness.

And saw light. Tiny pinpricks of light.

He was surrounded by a bed of stars.

"Tell me, Sebastian," Mitothin called again, his voice echoing as if from a great distance. Sebastian could see nothing of him but the bright blue eyes glittering with challenge. "What do you see?"

Sebastian forced his quivering lips to form words. "I – I see stars, sir. Tiny, stars, all about me."

"Is that all you see?"

"I…what do you mean?"

"Before, and all about you, Sebastian, is the universe we exist in. Millions of galaxies, countless suns, and a few scattered planets that host life. There are comets, asteroids, and dust clouds. And yet, it is all nothing. Now tell me, boy, what is it you see above everything else? What's _there_?"

"I see nothing," Sebastian stammered. "Just black space, and a few lights." A sudden flash from one of the lights nearly blinded him. When he looked again, however, the light was gone. There was just of gash of blackness where it had been, a gaping pit of emptiness. Sebastian began to feel suffocated, panicked by the way that nothingness had suddenly appeared. "And – and one of the lights just died. If – if it was a star, it must've been a…a…supernova. A burnt out star. Was that what you wanted me to see? There's nothing else."

"Precisely," came the satisfied reply. With a scream, the black cloud suddenly dispersed, and Sebastian found himself standing once again in the great tower. Except this time, his hands were shaking.

Mitothin was still standing upon the dais. The woman seated beside him was smiling gently at Sebastian, and he gazed at her helplessly as if he could draw strength from that smile.

"There was nothing," he gasped, finally understanding. "No, that's not right. There were the things you said there were, planets and all that. But mostly…there was just the dark."

"And the Dark," Mitothin said, "never dies."

"But the Light does," Sebastian whispered, as if giving a secret catchphrase.

Mitothin smiled.

"You and I, Sebastian, are creatures born from the Dark," he said, casually seating himself once again upon the throne. "We call ourselves Eternals, for we alone can truly live forever within Time. The potential of our power, the power of emptiness, is unlimited. If we were free to do everything we wished, we could swallow everything that shone too bright. It's the Law, you see, that all Light must eventually be extinguished. Just like that that foolish star you saw. All living things must die. In one sense, I suppose, you could say _we_ were already dead."

Sebastian, nervous, shuffled from foot to foot.

Mitothin's voice grew quiet. "You see, Sebastian, the people you know, the humans you've associated with, are living under an illusion. They blindly believe that their world holds meaning, that the spirit and creativity of their inventions will somehow last beyond them. But this is not the case. One day, it will all be gone."

Sebastian felt a shiver run through him. Was it possible? Shakespeare, forgotten. Mozart, never played again. The countless languages of the world, spoken no more. He'd always known that this was the future, that this is what science predicted for humanity. But he'd never _felt_ it until now.

"But not me!" he burst out, desperate, searching for anything that would fill the hollow pit in his chest. "Never me! I will not disappear."

"No, Sebastian," the woman purred. "_You_ won't."

Sebastian stared at her as if she were his salvation, an oasis in a desert of death.

"Freeze the fountain, Sebastian," she suddenly whispered, her voice taking on a high-pitched, whining eagerness. "It's the power that was given to you. Use it. Stop change. Stop death."

"I can't, Mother!" Sebastian blurted, overwhelmed, and he suddenly burst into tears.

"Yes, you can!" Mitothin hissed. "Use your fear, Sebastian, and your pride. They'll give you strength. You've always known, haven't you? Known that you were different, that you were special."

"Special," Sebastian whispered. And he angrily wiped the tears from his cheeks and stared at the fountain bubbling behind the two other Eternals. And he pictured it slowing, freezing, dying. Inwardly, however, he scoffed at his own foolishness. It was impossible.

And the fountain stopped.

The chamber was now empty of all noise, save for the heavy panting of Sebastian's breathing.

"Well done," the woman murmured, looking at him thoughtfully. "That was very well done, indeed."

Mitothin smiled stiffly.

Sebastian released a shout of triumph and ran around the thrones to the stone basin into which the fountain had fallen. Now, however, the water hung suspended in air, each droplet frozen in space, though not ice. Leaning over basin, he reached out one finger to touch it. It was still wet. Flushed with power, he laughed joyfully.

"_Enough_!" someone shouted, the single word echoing throughout the chamber.

Sebastian whirled. The voice, although familiar, was not Mitothin's. Deep and strong, it poked at something in his memory. And as he stared wildly for its source, he heard the fountain at his back jump once more to life and run merrily over the stones.

Mitothin and the lady were now both standing. Mitothin looked annoyed – and rather fearful. And there was no merriment now in the woman's face.

"My esteemed Lord and Lady," the voice continued, only the slightest hint of amusement detectable in its inflections. "It is my turn now."

And a third figure stepped forth from the shadows at the room's edge, where Sebastian had not seen him hidden before. Like the Eternals, he also wore a cloak, although his was a blue less brilliant than Mitothin's. The hood was pulled low over his face, so that Sebastian, peering close, could see nothing of his features.

But then the hood was pushed back, revealing a hooked nose and wild white hair. The eyes were fierce, and met Sebastian's in a greeting of recognition. It was the professor from Oxford, who just days ago had been patiently answering the questions of a small boy who refused to believe that tales of magic and sorcery meant anything.

"Hello, Sebastian," the professor said quietly. "It's a great pleasure to meet you again. I've come to continue our talk."


	3. Midwinter's Day

**DARK BIRTHDAY, by Eldrice**

**Standard Disclaimers Apply:** The Dark is Rising Universe belongs solely to Susan Cooper

**Chapter 3: Midwinter's Day**

**I.**

The white-haired professor strode forth from the shadows. Sebastian winced as a heavy hand fell on his shoulder, but otherwise didn't react as he was propelled forward until he stood once more before the two silver thrones.

"Don't be afraid, Sebastian," the man was saying softly into his ear. "I'm not here to harm you. Even if I wanted to, I could not. I only wish to have my say. Not because I am forcing it, but because it is my right."

Sebastian couldn't answer. Despite the kind words, he'd never been more terrified. He shrunk into himself, a strange mingling of shame, fear, and fury making him speechless.

"My lord," Mitothin said with icy politeness, seating himself with a flourish. The movement was confident, but Sebastian thought he saw a slight shaking of the hands. "I thought you had changed your mind?"

A dim smile flickered over the professor's craggy face. "No, I had not. I apologize, however, for whatever hopes my absence might have raised. I was occupied…elsewhere…and couldn't arrive quite when I had wanted to. An unfortunate delay."

Mitothin's eyes narrowed. "I did not _hope_," he corrected the visitor, rather impatiently. "We have nothing to fear from you. But I thought you would've grown tired of failure by now. To be defeated again and again…can you blame me for thinking you did not possess such stubborn foolishness?"

The professor shrugged. "Some say that every wise man knows himself for a fool."

Mitothin snorted.

The woman to Mitothin's left had spoken not a word since the professor's arrival. Her hood was pulled well over her head, and she seemed to be trying to hide her features, turning her face as best she could from the lamplight. As she resumed her seat, all Sebastian could see of her was a jagged, grim-looking mouth.

Mitothin leaned back in his throne and waved one hand carelessly. "Well, Old One," he said, "you've had your grand entrance. And the boy Sebastian is here, as you can see. Make your speech if you wish, but the boy – like the others – will be well beyond you."

"That remains to be seen," the professor said grimly.

It was now Mitothin's turn to shrug nonchalantly. "Sebastian," he yawned, "I think it's best if you stand directly between our guest and me, only a little to one side, so we can all see each other. We wouldn't want you to miss a single delightful word, would we?" The question had a whiplash of malevolence beneath it.

Wordlessly, Sebastian stood as directed.

There was a moment of silence.

"Er, may I…?" the professor asked politely, gesturing vaguely.

"By all means," Mitothin said, raising one acquiescing hand from his arm rest.

"Thank you." The professor coughed, clearing his throat and settling a pair of bifocals on his nose. "Now, Sebastian – "

"You're not my teacher!" he blurted, not knowing where the ugly words came from. "I don't have to listen to you. And I bet you're not even a professor. I don't even know _what_ you are!"

And suddenly, all appearance of an old, absent-minded professor vanished from the man, and Sebastian stared in fascinated horror as he grew tall as a pillar, his cloak billowing about him, light shining from its folds. A feeling of power surged through the whole room, and Sebastian whimpered as fierce, hawk-like eyes bored into his.

"You're right, Sebastian," he said harshly, a cold dignity snapping through his words. "In many ways, I am no professor. But neither are you a simple eleven-year old boy, and I will not suffer temper tantrums from creatures who are more of the Dark than not. Such nonsense is beneath you. And you _shall_ listen to me, for the High Magic says you must."

Sebastian gathered all his courage in to speak. "Why?" he growled.

"Because, Sebastian, in this world there are two opposing forces waging war against each other: the Light and the Dark. Above them, however, is the law of the High Magic, to which both must succumb. And the High Magic says that when a new Lord of the Dark comes into his own, he is given a first and final choice, the opportunity to turn his back on that which is given to him and renounce it. Before making that decision, however, he must listen to all the evidence, so that his choice is valid. I am here, Sebastian, so that you may exercise your own free will."

"And if I chose not to hear you?"

"You may do as you please. But it is my privilege to speak freely, and your duty to listen."

The pillar of light began to dwindle, fading from the man's robes so that once more Sebastian could look directly into his face. The voice, though still strong, no longer crashed throughout the cavern. "It is not so with the Light," he said, rather tiredly. "Those born to it have no choice but to follow its path, whatever the consequences.

"And I'm truly sorry, but I cannot tell you who I am. You may only know that I am an Old One, the first Lord of the Light born on this earth."

"You see, Sebastian?" Mitothin pointed out softly, his voice slipping into the boy's ears. "Even their name recognizes age, acknowledges death. That is not our way."

The Old One continued as if never interrupted. By now, he was once more the man Sebastian recognized as the Oxford professor, standing straight and severe. His voice became casual, detached. "You've probably noticed, Sebastian, that your two new friends have not told you their true names either. To do so would be to give you power over them. As they would have power over me, if they knew mine."

"But I know your name, from when you lectured at my school!"

"Do you?" The Old One raised one eyebrow.

Sebastian opened his mouth to hurl the name forth. But as his mind scrambled to locate the words, he came upon nothing but a slippery wall in his memory. Try as he might, nothing came.

"I – I can't remember. How did you do it?" he asked, awed.

The professor smiled. "I did not take your memory from you, if that's what you're wondering. You never had it. I do not go by my true name in the world, of course, but I do take certain precautions nevertheless. When I wanted to see you at school, I simply arranged things so that no one would wonder why I was known as no more than the 'Oxford professor.'"

"You – you can do magic?" Sebastian's voice became that of a wistful young boy, yearning for something impossibly out of reach.

The Old One stared at him rather blankly, and then a frown came between his eyes. "Yes, Sebastian," he said. "It was I who undid your little trick with the fountain. Which, by the way, is only the beginning of what you might learn to do. But the powers of the Light and Dark, you see, are equal in strength, and there are some magics that we both share in common. Catching something outside of Time for as long as we please is one of them."

A crafty look came over Sebastian's face. "And if I renounce, do I become an Old One?"

The Lord of the Light grimaced. His voice was sorrowful. "No, boy. You'll simply be mortal."

"You mean I'll die?"

"Yes, as all men do. But it is not a horrible fate, Sebastian, do not fear it."

"Tell him of the war, Old One," Mitothin interrupted once again, his voice impatient yet smug. "That's what he really wants to hear about."

The Old One gazed dispassionately at the Eternal seated upon his throne, and Sebastian saw Mitothin squirm somewhat under the gaze. But then the Old One looked away with a sigh, and an impenetrable indifference came over his face.

"Very well," he coughed. "In this battle between the Light and Dark, Sebastian, what is at stake is the fate of humanity. The Dark wishes to rule the world of men and women, and it will – "

"Nonsense!" Mitothin scoffed, leaning forward. "We simply wish to be left alone, desiring only to exercise our own power freely. It's ours, and we should be able to do with it as we please. But you – the foolish Light – would hamper us, chain our strength. And all for the sake of what? Man? You speak as though he were admirable, when we all know he is not. It will be no great loss for the universe to be rid of such a creature."

The Old One's mouth grew grim. "And there, Sebastian," he said, spreading his arms, "lies exposed the schism between Light and Dark. It is the Law of the High Magic that the Dark cannot harm humans. But that does not stop the Dark from…meddling. It is the Light's task to stop it, and to banish it from Time if possible."

"From Time?" Sebastian asked, confused.

"Yes, the one place from which there is no return, for both the Light and the Dark."

"And I am of the Dark." Sebastian's voice was simple, accepting.

"No," the Old One shook his head. "Not yet. Not until you've freely made your decision. It's your birthday today, your awakening, and so you have some power, which you've already discovered. But you do not yet have your name, nor can you understand or speak the tongue of the Dark. Until those two things come to pass, you're not fully awake."

Sebastian stared down at his feet, at the thin shoes that had done so little to protect from the cold. There were holes were his toes should be, and the soles were peeling away. He wriggled his foot, and one red-clad toe poked its way through. For the first time since entering the tower, he thought of his family, and the dingy flat he'd grown up in. He frowned.

The Old One's voice, though rough, was gentle:

"Sebastian, I advise you to think better of it. I can see that you fear death. All men do. I can also see that you want power, another not uncommon desire. And yet, I can tell you truthfully…there are fates worse than death. Life everlasting is not life. I knew a man once who – " And here the voice hoarsened and broke off. "Well, that is unimportant. As for power, it often has the unfortunate effect of striking back at its bearer. You should think of that."

"Why are you telling me this? You're not my friend."

"No, I am not. But neither am I your enemy. Not yet. This is simply my task, what I am meant to do. And I _will_ do it." A fanatical gleam came into the man's eyes. "There is no need for you to fear me now, Sebastian. But I promise that you will learn to fear me if you join the Dark."

The Old One paused, and seemed to make a conscious effort to gentle both his face and his voice. "I'm sorry, I should not have snapped at you so. But you should think upon what I've said, and make your decision wisely."

Sebastian's mouth gaped, but before he could answer, Mitothin stood from his throne. "You're forgetting yourself, Old One," he laughed. "The High Magic grants the Dark a privilege as well, does it not? Are we not allowed to have our own advocate?"

The Lord of the Light frowned, folding cloaked arms across his chest. He nodded slowly. "Yes, that is so."

"Well then," Mitothin said smugly. He raised his arms and tilted his head to the ceiling. His voice became sonorous and deep, incantatory. He shouted a name that Sebastian could not understand. "Friend, I call you in!"

There was a whirl of darkness and smoke. When it disappeared, Mr. Mirks stood before Sebastian, smiling in his vaguely cheerful way.

"Oh, hello there, lad," he laughed. "Fancy us meeting here, eh!"

"Mr. Mirks?" Sebastian replied, rather stunned, but not entirely surprised. At the same time, something in him relaxed. _Here _was something he could understand, a person from his daily life to anchor him in all this madness. "Are…are _you_ – ?"

"Of the Dark?" Mr. Mirks asked, shrugging his shoulders. "To be sure. It's nothing much, you know. Being of the Dark simply means that you have power, nothing more, nothing less." He grinned. "That fur coat looks magnificent, boy. It suits you."

"Thank you, of course," Sebastian replied rather distractedly.

A sorrowful look came over Mr. Mirks' face. "Sebastian, I do hope that nothing this gentleman from the Light has said disturbed you. They're like that, of course. All Old Ones are stuffy killjoys, ridiculously concerned about rules and all that. They make up their own rules, too. Everyone knows that. In many ways, they're rather like lawyers." And he snorted disdainfully.

The Old One coughed delicately.

"Well, it's true," Mr. Mirks said rather stubbornly. "Honestly, Sebastian, don't give him a second thought. The Light desires power just as we do. Oh, they speak very nobly about the rights of mankind and all that, but they're just as willing to sacrifice a single life for the greater good as we Eternals. And there _is_ a war, never forget that." His voice took on a fervor Sebastian had never heard before. "A glorious war, a war that will establish us in our rightful place in the universe's hierarchy. We were not meant to serve any man, Sebastian. We are meant only for greatness. And when the Light is gone, we will do great things."

"Why did you never tell me?" Sebastian's voice was accusing, but fondly so.

Mr. Mirks laughed, shrugging. "Well, it's all rather much to take in, no? Better to have you learn things as they come along."

Sebastian laughed in turn, rubbing his hair ruefully. "This morning _has_ been rather a shock," he admitted.

"Sebastian…" The Old One's voice was low, warning.

Mr. Mirks' chest puffed out and he looked at Sebastian with a pride that made him glow. "You know, I told our friends here that you're the best, the cleverest boy I've ever met. I told them you could be counted on. Don't disappoint me, lad. Not now. I'll see you back home." And with a wave of an arm, he was gone again, leaving only an empty space behind.

"Don't listen to him, Sebastian." The Old One's voice had become rather desperate. "He wasn't what he seemed to be. The Dark is not simply about power. It is about destruction, and emptiness, and the lack of love – "

"I'm sorry," Sebastian cut him off bluntly, confidently. "But I accept."

And suddenly, everything changed. Sebastian was never able afterwards to describe the feeling that then came over him. It wasn't a feeling of transformation, nor a shattering readjustment of his world. The best word he could find for it was _hardening_. Every bad feeling he'd ever had, every resentment and doubt and grudge grew cold and froze inside him, solidifying. He suddenly knew that he would never change again. He would remain an eleven-year-old boy forever.

And somewhere inside him a voice was born, a tiny, whispering voice that told him that he was no longer Sebastian Bligh. He had a new name, a name that now marked him as belonging to the Dark. It slithered through his mind, and Sebastian knew it at once as his true name, the name he'd been waiting for all his life. But he didn't speak it aloud.

And the power, oh yes, he felt it there…blossoming, ready to be used…

"Welcome," Mitothin said, grinning a toothy grin. "A new Eternal…it's always a pleasure to behold."

"Yes," Sebastian replied, the language of the Dark coming to his lips as easily as if he had been born speaking it. He turned then towards the Old One, who was standing just where he'd been before, a look of sorrow and anger on his face. Sebastian found the display of emotion rather trite.

"You want to leave now," he said threateningly, clenching his fists, calling up the language of magic in his mind. "You no longer belong here."

The Old One bristled and drew himself up to his full height. His voice was scornful. "You may now be an Eternal, Sebastian, but you are not yet one to order me around."

"Sebastian," the lady finally spoke. And as her sweet voice echoed throughout the chamber, the Old One's head whirled towards her, and he frowned. "You now know how to leave this place. You should go home, get some sleep. When the time is right, we will find you."

"Can you find your way home, boy?" Sebastian was surprised to find that Mitothin's voice still carried that biting mocking undertone.

"Yes, m'lord." He made a cold bow of assent, and left the chamber in a whirl of black smoke.

**II.**

It was over. The Light had made no attack upon the tower of the Dark. There had been no shrieking spirits at the door, no plaintive voices calling Sebastian's name, begging him to rescue them. There had been merely Merriman making his case, and a concerned plea to Sebastian's reason.

The plea had failed. Sebastian had accepted, and flown from the chamber on his new wings of power. All that remained was the three robes figures, standing alone.

"You lost another one there, friend," the Black Rider laughed softly. "Tell me, have you had even one success with this so-called 'privilege' granted by the High Magic? Has any creature born to the Dark ever refused it?"

"No," Merriman said dispassionately. "But that was no reason to stop trying. Besides – "

"Yes?"

"One day, the Dark will make a mistake." He gazed impassively at the woman in white.

The Rider laughed. "It's far too late for that, friend. With the awakening of Sebastian, the Dark's power is complete, just as the Circle of Old Ones became complete today as well." Mitothin couldn't keep the bitter malice from his voice. "But now, nothing shall stop the Dark from rising!"

Merriman smiled, amused. "Of course," he murmured. "Nothing but the Dark may defeat the Dark."

**III.**

London had awaken. Cars battled their way through the new-fallen snow, and morning commuters struggled to walk through the unusually high drifts. Planes buzzed overhead, and a television hummed once more before a woman sleeping on a couch.

"Mr. Mirks!" Sebastian was shouting, pounding on the door of apartment 509B. "I did it! I said yes! We're going to work together, you and I. Mr. Mirks?"

There was no answer.

He tentatively reached out and turned the door handle. It was unlocked. He slowly pushed the door inward.

And gasped to find the apartment, familiar to him since his early childhood, empty.

Indeed, nothing had been there for a very long time. The teakettle that had whistled cheerfully just the night before was shrouded in dust and cobwebs. The books had rotted where they stood on their shelves, and the pages crumpled in on themselves, piles of decayed organic matter within empty leather bindings.

Sebastian blindly walked forward. The elephant tusks and coral were gone; even the shrunken heads had vanished. He reached out and ran one finger thoughtfully along a skeletal plant that had withered and died long ago. The leaves crumbled like dust beneath his touch.

He let out a stifled curse that, even two days ago, might have been tears.

His task completed, Mr. Mirks had left. Or, perhaps, he'd never been there at all.

Sebastian was alone.


	4. Christmas Day, Twelfth Night

**DARK BIRTHDAY, by Eldrice**

**Standard Disclaimers Apply:** _The Dark is Rising_ Universe belongs solely to Susan Cooper.

**A/N:** I'm sorry for the wait on this chapter, but life rather swept me up, and there were one of two descriptive paragraphs that I couldn't get quite right (and which I'm still not happy with). We're starting the "vignette" portion of the story now, so these last three chapters will be rather on the short side.

**Chapter 4: Christmas Day, Twelfth Night**

_"Will rather regretted that his mother shut the door before they had a chance to hear a car's engine start up. He did not think the Rider had come by car."_

Susan Cooper, The Dark is Rising

**I.**

Sebastian jumped as snow fell from an overhanging evergreen branch and slithered down his coat collar with a sinister _sloosh_. Wet and cold, he twisted one arm over his shoulders to scoop out as much as possible. His squirming, however, served only to make his charge skittish, the beast apparently deciding that now was the perfect opportunity to prance and toss his head up towards the blue Christmas sky, his bit jingling in a manner that was not at all merry.

"Damn," Sebastian swore, forgetting all about dripping snow because both hands were now needed on the reins to keep the blasted animal under control.

"Shush, Blackie, shush!" he hissed in the Dark speech, using all his weight to keep the horse on the ground. "We're supposed to be hiding! Mitothin will have my hide if someone hears us!" The horse pricked his ears at the words, but then settled down into relative complacency. Sebastian let out a sighing _whoosh_ of relief and raised one hand to brush tiny balls of snow from his hair.

"Now _that's_ better," he grumbled. "I was wondering when this Dark language was ever going to become useful…." He scowled, thinking of last night.

Billy had been in a shouting mood. "I wish you'd stop talking like that!" he'd yelled. "It's obnoxious."

"Like what?" Sebastian had replied quietly, clearing the containers from their Christmas Eve take-out dinner.

"You know what I mean! And you're still doing it! Knock it off, will you?"

"Billy, you stark raving mad lunatic, what the hell are you talking about?"

"This funny new accent you're putting on. It's absolutely ridiculous. There's something wrong about it anyway…doesn't sound right. Why can't you just talk like you used to?"

Sebastian hadn't had an answer for him.

"But you don't mind, do you, Blackie?" he whispered, patting the horse's nose awkwardly. "You're a horse, so you can't talk. But if you did, I bet you'd sound just like me. Can a horse really belong to the Dark, or is Mitothin just using you? I wonder."

'Blackie' whiffled in an utterly unhelpful response.

Sebastian sighed. This waiting for Mitothin business sure was dull. He'd never been to Buckinghamshire before, but already knew that he didn't think much of it. Things were too quiet. If only he could use the time to practice his magic, then maybe it wouldn't be so awful. He'd been doing a lot in the past few days, experimenting as best he could in empty alleyways and parks. He was rather limited with test subjects, but he'd made do with what he found. Word must've gotten around, though…the London squirrels had started scurrying away at his approach.

"Cheeky bastards," Sebastian muttered.

If only there was some way to _learn_, someone who could be his teacher! But Mitothin had been as close-lipped as ever that morning, when he'd mysteriously appeared at Sebastian's flat and told the boy he had a task for him. (Billy had already gone out with his mates, and his Mum had been still sleeping, so only Sebastian had seen the Dark Lord.) And it was clear by now that Mr. Mirks had abandoned Apt. 509B for good. Sebastian found the lack of guidance incredibly frustrating. Some spells had come easily, like the one that had carried him from the Dark's tower, or that which bound living things helpless in Time, able to see and hear, but neither move nor speak…

…indeed, that spell had come a little _too_ easily…

He shuddered.

But he couldn't make fire, nor could he get into the minds of others, although it wasn't for lack of trying. He'd even checked a few books on the occult out from the library, hoping that somehow they'd give him the words he lacked. He'd felt ridiculous, drawing ornate circles on his bedroom floor – working hastily while Billy was at work – and chanting in Zoroaster. Nothing had come of it, of course, except that his voice had gone rather hoarse.

And then Mitothin had given strict instructions that morning that Sebastian was to try nothing…_funny_…while on their little excursion. The Sign-Seeker was inside his house, and they couldn't risk alerting him that more than one Eternal was present. All Sebastian had to do was _watch_, and give the warning if anyone approached. Oh, and keep Blackie company, of course.

Sebastian, hidden with Mitothin's horse among a copse of sodden evergreens, scowled at the Stanton family house. Large and rambling, with icicles hanging from the eaves and smoke curling from the chimney, it was the type of building that properly belonged on a greeting card, with the message "Merry Yule!" written beneath it in ornate, old-fashioned letters. Nauseating, in a cheerful sort of way.

If he stood on tiptoes and craned his neck, he could just glimpse the interior through a half-curtained window. Shadowy figures were moving about, passing boxes of all sizes among them. He wondered which one was the boy named Will, the one whose eleventh birthday was also Midwinter's Day.

Sebastian shook his head, angry. Not a boy, that was stupid. An Old One - the enemy. He wondered whether Mitothin would battle him, a ferocious, blood-curdling clash of magics! That at least would make this dullest of Christmas mornings more interesting. He watched the house, waiting for the roof to blow off or the windows explode. Nothing happened. He sighed again, louder this time. Blackie whiffled sympathetically.

Honestly, though, the Stanton family must be pretty dim not to realize what kind of creature was living among them. With all those brothers and sisters, you'd think _someone_ would figure it out, poking their nose in where it didn't belong. Of course, his own family hadn't noticed anything about him either – except for Billy's "accent" tantrum. Their mum was certainly just as vapidly cheerful as always. But Sebastian had expected nothing of them anyway. They weren't like the Stantons. It was just different.

A patch of color passed across the window, the flaring red of Mitothin's hair. A second later, the Stanton front door opened and Mitothin himself stepped forth, calling a polite farewell to those within. Strains of holiday music escaped through the doorway, dying away when it shut once more.

Sebastian straightened, trying to look eager and helpful.

Mitothin stalked towards the evergreen clump, head bowed. His tall boots crunched on the new-fallen snow. Blackie tossed his head and started forward to greet his master. But Sebastian, gritting his teeth, held the straining black horse fast, his arms screaming.

"It is done," the Eternal said by way of greeting, looking up. He held out one hand, and Sebastian threw him the reins. No sooner did his fingers close about them than he had mysteriously mounted, his coat elongating and billowing behind him as a large black cloak. Sharp-heeled boats dug into the horse's flank, and the Black Rider leapt towards the wood, where clouds of rooks were racously cawing.

"Come!" he shouted, not turning his head, and Sebastian gathered himself to run after them.

Mitothin reined the black horse in upon reaching the shelter of the trees. With a blank, aristocratic face, he turned in the saddle to watch Sebastian struggle to catch up, running with difficulty through the deep drifts. When the boy finally made it, he wordlessly turned his horse once more towards the woods, and they set forward at a gentle walking pace.

Sebastian was tired and cranky, and the unquestionable command "Come!" had plucked at the nerves of his annoyance. Also, he was slowly losing the fear he had of Mitothin, who so far had displayed no stomach-quaking magical feats. And the combination of these two things meant that sarcastic words – the product of thoughts he usually kept to himself – tripped easily off his tongue. He was rather inclined to impudence when cross.

"Well, I hope you had a right jolly time in there," he grumbled, bending down to brush snow from his trousers. "It was probably nice and warm, and I bet breakfast smelled delicious. Sausage and biscuits, most likely. And everyone laughing. Bet they were glad to see you, bringing their mum the ring and all. Oh, yes, it's a mighty difficult quest you've just accomplished, m'lord. Congratulations!"

Mitothin's annoyed gaze snapped downward. "You're a fool," he said bluntly.

"For not liking having my nose frozen?" Sebastian swatted a branch away from his face. "For not liking having had time not even for breakfast? Sure, these are all very foolish things, I don't know what I was thinking. Silly me. Standing in the cold holding your bloody horse for you, I've never had it so good – "

"Don't pretend to be stupid. It's beneath you. You know I was referring to the way you envy Will Stanton."

Sebastian recoiled as if he'd been struck, and said nothing.

Mitothin's eyes hardened, and his red hair shone like brittle wire in the sun that streamed through the bare branches. Suffering was etched in every line of his face. "You'll learn, boy, that the cruelty of the Light knows no bounds. Oh yes, the boy Will was born into a loving family. But he is also an Old One, a creature who will not survive the Rising. When his appearance dies, his family's grief will be overwhelming. Even if he were to survive – a strictly hypothetical possibility, of course – he would be forced to live as everyone he cared for sickened and died. In the end, all his love would wither and vanish like ashes, and despair would take its place. And that is the gift of the Light.

"And you would envy him his current happiness? You deserve to be called a fool, Sebastian, for you don't realize how fortunate you are. No human ties bind you. When the world is finally ours, you will not suffer as the Sign-Seeker would've suffered."

Mitothin paused before continuing. A bird sang somewhere. His face cleared.

"And then, of course, there are the more practical dangers. The Sign-Seeker's family makes him vulnerable. Even now, I have within my possession a…trinket…that gives me power over one of the sisters, and thus over the Old One himself. He will do anything to save her, of course." Mitothin grinned ferociously. "The Light's pitiably predictable in that way."

Sebastian grunted as he tripped over a rock hidden beneath the snow, a nearby tree trunk just barely saving him from sprawling upon the ground. His stomach felt funny. "But I thought we couldn't harm humans?"

"Don't talk nonsense. Black letter rules may always bend, even if they cannot break. But you should know this already, Sebastian. After all, weren't you the one who caught the man Billings within a web of magic, abandoning him helpless in a freezing apartment? You're also the one who turned the heat off, if I'm not mistaken. Tell me, when do you think the police – or your mother – will find the body?"

Sebastian paled. "No," he whispered. "I just wanted to scare him, that's all. Make him stay away from us – from Mum. I went back, I swear I did. But by then he'd gone all grey and cold…I – I didn't _mean_ to – "

Mitothin's laugh jangled merrily. "Of course you didn't _mean_ to, but you did anyway. Don't be shy, Sebastian, and don't pretend to be sorry. It was well done. We're very proud of you." He held out a hand for Sebastian to grasp, and easily swung the boy up to sit behind him.

And Sebastian wasn't sorry.

**II.**

But he bitterly remembered Mitothin's praise twelve nights later, as he opened the door and slipped silently into his family's flat.

At first, it had been glorious. The Hawk's old, triumphant voice had called him from the deepest sleep, and upon awakening he'd found himself among a crowd of creatures the likes of which he'd never imagined. There were beasts with horns and fangs, bulbous lips that smiled to reveal tongues awkward with words. Only here and there throughout the crowd had flashed eyes that appeared completely human. Blue and green hair had shone in the light of torches, and intricate patternings had glittered upon textured flesh. It was night, and their battle cries had spiraled wailing up to the starry sky. Sebastian had thought it was beautiful.

They'd stood encircled about a large manor house, and Sebastian had somehow known what needed to be done without explanation. Raising his arms, he'd joined his voice with the others', chanting the spells of deep cold. But on the verge of triumph, they'd been thrown back, rebuffed, as their portal into the house slammed unexpectedly shut.

And then the whirling black pillar of mist had come, and he'd been swept up into it. He remembered laughing as he flew through the night air, flush with power and freedom and the desire to hurt. The frozen Thames had wound away into the distance like a silver ribbon, and everything human below him had appeared so small and insignificant in the face of what _he_ could do.

But then, the howling of the Yell Hounds had approached in the distance.

He grimaced at his face in the foyer mirror. It _was_ still his face, although drastically and violently altered. The sun was just rising, and he studied his features in its early rays.

His eyelids were still slightly drooped, and when he smiled the dimple in his cheek appeared just as it always had. Black, questioning brows arched over eyes of the most delicate cornflower blue, and full lips pressed firmly together in a line of grim condemnation of the world.

But his cheeks were thinner, and his eyes stared, straining, as he remembered the horror of being hunted by a monster and his snarling minions. He'd always been pale, but his whiteness now approached something unnatural. Pain had left a tight tension on his brow that should never belong to an eleven-year-old. And the scars…the gashes…the violent tearing of the flesh…

He reeled with headache. Limping home both through Time and Space had left him drained and exhausted. The Hunt had had no mercy in driving him as far as it could. Had it taken days or weeks for him to return? He'd never had to struggle back through Time before. It had been…messy.

_Sleep_. He didn't need it, but he craved it. He stumbled into the parlor.

"Oh, Sebastian, there you are," his mother muttered, dozing on the sofa. "I figured you'd spent the night at a friend's. Did you have fun, m'dear?"

"Yes, Mum," he croaked in response, cloaking the horrible scars on his face with magic. She could never know. "You should never worry about me."


	5. Calan Gaeaf

**DARK BIRTHDAY, by Eldrice**

**Standard Disclaimers Apply:** _The Dark is Rising_ universe belongs solely to Susan Cooper. No profit is being made on this story.

**A/N:** It was difficult for me to make this chapter as canonical as I could. I've tried my best, but there may be little details I've overlooked or mistaken. I apologize in advance. And for those of you who are interested, this chapter, tame as it is, is probably the closest I will ever come to writing slash in the _TDIR_ universe.

**Chapter Five: Calan Gaeaf**

"The riders rode past Caradog Prichard, who stood gaping vacantly at the lake, looking for the vanished wondrous fish, and clearly did not see anything else. _He has the power of the Grey King_, Will thought, _but not the eyes_."

- Susan Cooper, The Grey King

**I.**

At the very top of Cader Idris, as close as one could get to the sky, the mist never went away.

Sebastian shivered and wrapped his arms about himself. The large rock he perched upon was hard and flat, and the thin blue anorak he wore did little to trap warmth. It was autumn, and although a beautiful Indian summer was reigning elsewhere, up here it was always cold.

Down below, he knew that sunshine flooded the valley of Dysynni. The plowed fields would be dry and dark under the autumn sun. If he could pick up a handful of that rich soil, it would crumble between his fingers and fall back to the ground. He knew that flocks of sheep dotted the mountainside, small white puffs against the grey-green mountains. Sheep dogs would run circles about them, barking urgently whenever one strayed dangerously far. Sebastian could just hear their distant yipping, the smallest, loneliest noise he had ever heard. And if he closed his eyes, he thought he could smell the astringent tartness of distant evergreen plantations, and the gentler odor of bracken and gorse.

But the sun couldn't reach him through the ragged clouds shrouding the peak of Cader Idris. And so he shivered, sniffling, and wallowed in feeling sorry for himself:

He'd been kidnapped.

That's what it had amounted to, more or less. It wasn't fair.

He'd been walking home from school, thinking about nothing at all, when Mitothin had appeared on the sidewalk before him, standing there as casually as if they'd just seen each other yesterday. Except that now, a scar ripped down the red-haired man's face.

"Uh, hullo," Sebastian had said, stepping back. "Er…what are you doing here?"

"He needs someone." Mitothin had looked grim, and – Sebastian thought – a little frightened. "I've come to fetch you."

"What? Huh? Who's_ he_?"

There'd been no other reply. Without warning, Sebastian had been swept up in a power that he couldn't control. It was unnerving. One minute, the buses and crowds of London had been bustling before his eyes. The next, he'd found himself here, trapped upon the loneliest mountaintop in Wales. And everything was deathly quiet.

He shuddered at the memory. A writhing mist had greeted him upon his arrival, curling about his arms and legs as if ensuring that he really was Sebastian Nathaniel Bligh. And then the mist had spoken to him, calling itself the _Brenin Llywd_ – the Grey King – and had ordered him to watch the valley. For the Sign-Seeker was abroad.

The disembodied voice had been frightening. Sebastian – angry and sensible – had immediately retorted that no bloody fog, however special, could ever be a king, and he'd be damned if he'd do anyone else's spying for them. He demanded to be sent back home _at once_. Where the hell was Mitothin?

And then the mist had lashed out at him somehow, and that had _hurt_.

So Sebastian had shut up and done what he was told: watch without question. The Grey King hadn't spoken since, but Sebastian felt that a watchful presence surrounded him at all times. He wished he knew why he was here. What good would his watching Stanton do anyone, anyway?

"Kidnapping," he muttered, this time aloud. He let one hand dangle down so that it could scratch at his ankle through dirty socks. He hadn't bathed in days. "I should bring charges. Felons, that's all they are. _I_ say, toss 'em all in jail and throw away the key, even Mitothin. _Especially_ Mitothin."

He briefly thought of London and wondered what his family was thinking. After all, the school would be ringing almost everyday now, demanding an explanation for his continuous absence. Maybe the police had even been called in. He wished the Dark had been polite and thoughtful enough to arrange such details for him. A debilitating illness might've been a good excuse. Meningitis sounded sufficiently dire.

A prickling in the back of his mind interrupted his thoughts, like a warning bell. Ah. Will Stanton was roaming again.

At least this task wasn't boring. Invigorated, Sebastian scrambled to his feet and swiftly flung a fresh spell of observation out over the valley.

He'd cast numerous such spells in the past days. By now, they were as easy for him as tuning a radio in to the right frequency. The necessary pictures and words formed rapidly in his mind, the waving grasses of the mountainside the last detail to come into focus. And yes, there was Will Stanton, standing on a distant hillside talking to a strange boy and his dog. He looked pale and thin, almost haggard, and he still hadn't learned to comb that hair from his eyes. And Sebastian was lucky. The two boys were standing just off an Old Way. If they'd remained there, his powers of observation couldn't possibly have reached through it's protection.

The Old One's voice was wondering: "_The raven boy_. That's who you are, that's what it calls you, the old verse. I have it all now, I can remember. But ravens are black. Why does it call you that?"

"My name is Bran. Bran Davies. I live down on your uncle's farm…" 

Sebastian frowned. This Bran Davies…he hadn't seen him before. And no one could possibly forget seeing such a boy. His face and hair were bleach white, drained of all color. And behind a pair of black sunglasses, Sebastian could tell that his eyes were the tawny golden color of a wild beast's.

But the boy's strangeness went beyond his bizarre coloring. He wasn't an Old One, that was for sure, but there was nothing of the Dark about him either. Still, it was impossible to say that he was simply _ordinary_. No one with eyes like _that_ could ever be ordinary. Sebastian raised one hand to his own scarred face, remembering.

The two were laughing now, Will Stanton doing something weird and obnoxious with his mouth.

"Stop it," Davies squealed. "Get educated, man. Now while your tongue is there, blow round the sides of it. Both sides at once."

Will Stanton obediently blew.

Sebastian sighed wearily and in disbelief. The naughty subtext was almost _too_ obvious. Honestly, the two of them deserved to be written up on the wall of a school lavatory.

"But mine doesn't really sound like yours. Yours sounds wetter. Like German. _Achtung! Achtung!_"

"Do you speak German?"

"Good Lord, no! I heard that in some old film. _Achtung!_ Machynlleth!"

The Welsh boy impatiently corrected his errant pronunciation. Will Stanton, however, was unfazed, not even acknowledging the rudeness.

"You see, yours does sound wetter. Sploshier. I expect all Welsh babies dribble a lot…"

Sebastian wrinkled his nose. It was revolting, really, the way these Old Ones trivialized emotions. For example, here was Will Stanton, playing all nice with the so-called Raven Boy (and they chose the oddest names for their prophecies, too), when anyone could tell that only someone who _desperately_ needed something would be friends with such a freak. Sebastian almost felt sorry for Davies. Better to be alone than manipulated so blatantly.

Ugh, and it was getting worse. Now they were running downhill together, frolicking and giggling like two girls prancing through a sunny meadow. It's a wonder they didn't have buttercups woven in their hair. Will Stanton's was certainly long enough. The barking dog bounded gleefully beside them. Sebastian crossed his eyes and let his tongue loll out in disgusted despair.

At least the frolicking didn't last long. Apparently, Will Stanton wasn't much of a runner. Sebastian sneered at the exposed weakness. The Old One was bent over, clutching his chest and wheezing pathetically. Bran Davies was pretending to care.

"Hullo, what's this?" Sebastian muttered. Someone was approaching the two boys. Ah, Caradog Prichard, one of the more interesting local personalities he'd come to know in the past few days. Crusty and rude, and he didn't treat his wife right. Smelly, too. Probably never bathed. Fancied himself a poet. Ha!

But wait…

Sebastian peered closer. There was something different about Prichard today. The farmer was scurrying across the mountainside swiftly, almost as if he actually had somewhere important to be, when Sebastian knew only too well that he did not. Intrigued, he abandoned Will and Bran to their mutual cooing and focused upon delving into the Welshman's mind.

The surface thoughts were trivial: dogs, foxes, sheep, jealousy, despair…the usual concerns of a malcontent farmer, disappointed with the world and his place in it. Useful emotions for the Dark's purposes, but hardly anything revelatory. Beneath the surface, however, there was something…new. He almost recognized it, he was so close…_there_…

He flung himself out with a gasp, shuddering from the contact. Incredible. He hadn't known it could be done.

"Sebastian."

The surprisingly sweet voice of the Grey King came from nowhere. Startled, Sebastian whirled about, his connection to the events currently unfolding on the mountainside shattering.

That damned mist, the breath of the _Brenin Llywd_, was curling about his feet once more.

"What have you done to that man?" he cried, addressing the air. His voice trembled angrily.

The Grey King's laughter echoed about him, as if it came from all directions at once. "Why, nothing, _boyo_. Nothing he himself didn't wish for, that is."

"Don't deny it! I felt it. I felt _you_. Inside him, feeding off him. Your own power, that of the Dark's, inside a…inside a…_human_. Available for him to _use_. Are you mad!"

"Mad? Hardly. But he soon shall be, once he discovers what he's been given." A note of scorn came into the sweet voice, hardening it into something cold and deadly. "Besides, that man is no creature of mine. I've merely laid the groundwork, in case such a puppet-fool is needed."

Sebastian's head clouded. That a Lord of the Dark should contemplate placing his magic at the disposal of a mere human, a vessel that couldn't be controlled…it was the height of folly. Nothing would probably come of it for some time, for Prichard was as ofyet unawares of what he had been offered. But that would not last long. Once such a seed was sown, it must bear fruit.

He swiftly cast his thoughts back to the mountainside, trying to catch a glimpse of what was transpiring. Prichard was confronting the two boys, malevolence pouring from him in waves. There was some argument over that stupid dog, and Davies, his mangy mutt insulted, was all pride and cold arrogance.

A genuine feud was brewing, one that could erupt at any moment into violence. And there was Will Stanton, caught right up in the middle of it all…

Ah…

"You're a coward," Sebastian whispered. It was so clear now.

"Silence, Sebastian…"

"You're afraid to face the Light," he continued flatly. "A big, fat, stinking coward, not even brave enough to show himself to little boys. And so you'll get a weak, witless human to do your dirty work for you. You'll make him your hands, just like you've made me your eyes…"

"Take care, boy, else you wish – "

"You're a coward!" He was screaming now. "Let me go down there! I'll fight them, I'll hurt them. Whatever you want done to Will Stanton and Bran Davies, I can do it. _I'm_ not afraid! I'm stronger than _you_!"

The words echoed through the thin air. Sebastian simply stood there, aghast, expecting the worst.

It came.

Without warning, the mist silently flew at him. Claws no more substantial than smoke ripped into his flesh. Sebastian shrieked, dropping to the ground and curling into a ball, clenching his gut, which felt like it was being run through a shredder. There was searing pain, but nothing else. No cuts. No blood. Just pain.

Desperate, he gathered himself to hurtle all his power at the Grey King in defense. But he wasn't quick enough, and another attack came. This time, it was a blunt blow that sent him spinning through the air. He landed awkwardly, his left arm twisted beneath him. There had been an unpleasant crunching noise, and he dimly wondered whether the bone was broken.

Everything grew eerily quiet, except for a bird calling somewhere above him. Sebastian heard it, and wondered what it would be like to fly so freely, away from this cursed ground. Wondered what bird it even was, to make such a beautiful sound.

His eyes opened blearily, and he immediately wished that he had kept them closed.

The mist that was Sebastian's conception of the Grey King was dispersing, and standing there among the remaining wisps was a figure from one's worst nightmares: a naked thing, neither male nor female, immense, taller than any mortal ever could be. Its skin was pale as maggots, its eyes were black and sunken.

Oh no...oh no no no _noooo_…

But there were no eyes. Just empty sockets, from which something like blood oozed.

Horrified and fascinated, Sebastian stared, scrambling back on his knees and one good hand. The Grey King was _blind_.

The vilest curse he could think of flew from his lips, something one of Mum's boyfriend's had screamed at Billy one night, when Sebastian was just a small boy playing with his Mack trucks in the corner.

"Stronger than me?" the naked figure whispered, lurching forward. One clammy hand groped sightlessly and found Sebastian's face, leaving a trail of slime across one cheek. Bony fingers grappled at his throat. Sebastian groaned, flinching away from the creature looming over him. "Hardly, although fresh young ones like yourself often think so. But I be one of the oldest, _boyo_, and you shall not best me yet."

"What are you doing?" Sebastian croaked. It was becoming difficult to breath. "Let go of me, we're allies! I'm an Eternal, just like you! Or had you forgotten?"

"Allies…" the sly voice moaned. "What a delightful word. You didn't think we were allies, did you? How sweetly naïve, though, if you did. Makes things…simpler…for me. Tell me, Last of the Eternals, do you know what your fate will be when the Light is gone, once we're victorious in freeing ourselves from their imposed tyranny? We shall become enemies, foes, each of us to the other. Every Eternal against every Eternal. All of us seeking to maximize our own power, because that's all there is. And young ones like you won't last long. Some say that spending eternity outside of Time can't be made painful. They're wrong. Pain is the only thing that truly exists, there."

Sebastian stared directly into that horrible blind face, not caring that it couldn't stare back. He had to at least pretend strength. "You'll never beat me," he hissed, choking. "You need me. You can't see without me."

The creature grinned, mouth gaping, and Sebastian helplessly shut his eyes against the stench of its breath. "My sweet young man. I need you now, but I won't need you then. Don't make the mistake of thinking you are my only tool in this battle. There will be other means. No one will need you. You'll be useless. Expendable. Just – like – so…"

And with surprising physical strength, the Grey King lifted him with two claws and hurled him through the air. Sebastian saw the approaching outcrop of granite, and clenched his teeth in preparation. He landed, head cracking evilly against the hard surface. And he knew no more.

**II.**

When he awoke, he found himself once again alone on the mountaintop. Alone except for a great silver fox, which crouched several feet away and watched him through narrowed, mocking eyes. The sun was setting; several hours must've passed. Only a single red star was visible in the darkening sky, hanging low above the eastern horizon.

Keeping a wary eye on the _milgwn_, Sebastian tentatively raised one hand to touch the back of his head, where a throbbing lump felt hot and squishy. But when he brought his fingers away, there was no blood. He then flexed his injured arm and was relieved to find it merely jammed, and not broken.

Cradling the sore arm, he carefully made his way over to what looked like it would be the most comfortable patch of bracken-covered ground to lie upon. The _milgwn _stiffened in response, but made no threatening gestures other than pricking its ears and baring its teeth somewhat. The warning, however, was still clear. Those teeth had been sharp and gleaming. And so Sebastian settled himself as best he could, told himself that he had no other choice, and resumed Watching.

Days passed on Cader Idris, each colder than the last. The damp mist sunk into his bones, and he felt he would never be dry again. He watched without passion or interest, except for that when Prichard shot the dog Cafall, he laughed, giggling helplessly. And when Will Stanton was traipsing along a mountain path, he shrugged the earth just enough so that the Old One tumbled down the slope, injuring his left arm. Just like Sebastian.

The Grey King didn't show himself again, though the silver _milgwn _never abandoned its watchful post. But Sebastian knew he was there, somehow feeding off of what he himself was seeing.

Mostly, though, he thought. And plotted.

He finally understood. Nothing and nobody was on his side. No one ever had been. His mother and brother, Mr. Mirks, Mitothin, the Lord of the Light who pretended to be an Oxford professor…none of them meant anything _real_. Power alone could protect him. His.

So there was only one thing left to be done, now.

He would give as good as he got.


	6. The Red Rider

**DARK BIRTHDAY, by Eldrice**

**A/N:** I'm so sorry for the delay with this chapter. But I moved (_again_) and was very stressed for awhile, and when that happens I can't really write. The structure of this also gave me difficulties, because I jump around a lot. Anyway, this originally was going to be the last chapter, but there's one more coming up. Things got long, so once again I'm splitting it in two. Hope to see the final chapter by next weekend.

**Chapter Six: The Red Rider**

"Will caught sight of the Black Rider once more, high in the dark mist; his face was twisted in fury and dread and frozen malevolence, and behind these the awareness of defeat. He spun his horse so fiercely round that the lithe black stallion tottered and almost fell. As he jerked at the rein, the Rider seemed to cast something impatiently from his saddle, a small dark object that fell limp and loose to the ground, and lay there like a discarded cloak."

- Susan Cooper, The Dark is Rising

**Chapter Prologue**

The Grey King had been driven from Wales, and Sebastian had fled Cader Idris along with the _milgwn_. But he hadn't gone home. For months he'd simply roamed London, the specter of the Grey King driving him day and night. Hunger meant nothing to an Eternal, and so food hadn't soothed him. He'd never thirsted, so water had brought him no relief. Nothing had comforted him, save for the thought that he would forcibly take that which he had been denied.

He'd accepted the Dark to gain power and respect. Neither, he'd learned, would ever be granted him. And so he'd run, terrified always that Mitothin or some other Lord of the Dark would penetrate the spells of concealment he'd cast and discover him. He'd been too fearful to return to his mother's house. They'd look there. He'd thought about returning just once, to warn Mum and Billy of what might befall them. But it hadn't been worth the risk. All he could do was read the paper headlines, looking for any news of unnatural deaths.

Autumn had hardened into winter, and Sebastian had huddled with homeless men over trashcan fires. Spring had come, and his clothes had grown damp and musty. Summer warmed and dried him, and Sebastian had a letter.

He'd been walking through a crowded square when an unseen stranger jostled him. Annoyed, he'd whirled to snarl at the offender. But no one was there. Instead, he'd found a piece of parchment clenched in his left hand. Bemused, he'd unfolded it and read the spidery, old-fashioned handwriting. The paper had told him a story, a story of a tree. A beautiful tree. An admirable tree. A tree that didn't give knowledge, but bequeathed absolute power.

Sebastian didn't know who or what had forced that paper into his hand. He didn't care.

He finally had a plan.

**I.**

With a sick feeling in her stomach, Jane watched as the Riders of the Dark galloped through the sky, keeping pace easily with the rattling train of the Light. Their figures were dim against the thunderous clouds, cloaks of black and white flapping madly in the darkness. If she squinted her eyes, they almost looked like birds. Without thinking, she reached out and pressed Barney's fingers with her own.

"Jane, ow, that hurts," he protested, turning to her with a frown.

"No fighting now, children," Blodwen Rowlands said pleasantly, her knitting needles clicking merrily. Her husband patted her knee with an affectionate chuckle. Merriman merely gave her a blank stare.

"Barney," Jane whispered. "Do you see them? Riding?"

"Don't frighten him, Jane," Simon interrupted, his voice rather hoarse.

But it was too late. Barney was already staring out the window, caught by the image of rushing horror and blackness that pursued them. He curled his fingers inside his sister's and held fast. "Gumerry…?" His voice trembled with the effort of maintaining bravery.

"Don't be afraid, children," Merriman whispered low, so that only they could hear. "This is the Rising, yes, the last pursuit. And the danger will grow now, as the Black and White Riders of the Dark make their attempt upon the Tree. But they will not touch this time-train of ours, for we carry on it something of their own. Look away. They are no concern of ours."

Jane swallowed hard. She wished to look away, but could not. The black and white flashing was nightmarish, hypnotic, like a television screen stuck permanently on static. For a brief second, horror nearly overwhelmed her. It was as if all color were erased from the outside world.

And then…

"Gumerry!" she cried, releasing Barney's hand and pressing her nose against the train window. Hair fell into her eyes, and she impatiently brushed it away. "Look! There's something else out there, someone following us – and them…"

Mrs. Rowlands looked up from her knitting, an expression of swift interest on her face.

"Don't be ridiculous," Bran scoffed, his voice harsh. "No one would be so foolish as to actually – "

He was cut off abruptly by Will Stanton's hiss of warning.

Jane didn't care. "Simon? You see it, too, right?" Her voice pleaded with him to agree.

She felt, rather than saw, Simon approach her position at the window. His voice was strained. "I think so," he said, "if you mean that flash of red behind us. It almost…looks like fire."

Jane shuddered. "It's not fire," she whispered. "It's a man, on a horse."

"Enough!" Merriman's voice was firm and ringing. The Drews all jumped and stared at him, sitting straight in their seats. "I told you it's no concern of ours, and that's true. Leave it be. The affairs of the Dark have no place here. Promise me you won't look again."

It was a command, not a request. The Drews nodded, mumbling promises. The rattling of the train echoed loudly in the rocking compartment.

"Good," Merriman sighed, an expression of relief falling over his face. But he then turned to stare at Will Stanton with blind eyes.

Will, from where he was standing in the doorway, swaying, left his position to take the empty seat next to Merriman. There was a tension in his face, and perplexity upon his brow. "Merriman," he whispered in wonder, so low that none of the others could hear. "Is it – could it really be…?"

"Hush," Merriman interrupted. "It may be, but for now we can only hope. But remember the Law, Will: none but the Dark may destroy the Dark."

"I've never forgotten it."

And as the train of the Light rushed on into darkness, Mrs. Rowlands' knitting needles clacked furiously.

**II.**

Jane had been wrong. It was not a man, but a boy.

Sebastian flung himself forward and threw his arms about the horse's neck. The brilliant red cloak flapped in his ears so that he could hear nothing but its roar. Terrified, he muttered unintelligible imprecations under his breath and held on with every muscle and sinew he had. His legs clenched, his thighs shrieking. His very nails dug into the sweaty hide. He wanted to squeeze his eyes shut against the blast of wind, but dared not. His riding skills were negligible in the best of circumstances. Blinded, he would surely be thrown.

Still, he whispered tormenting words into the horse's pricked ears. The beast bucked, screamed, and then continued racing forward at a supernatural speed.

He had to catch Mitothin before they reached the Tree.

Otherwise, it would be all for naught.

The stallion veered sharply. Sebastian slipped, and barely kept his seat by fisting his fingers in the red mane and wrenching himself upright. Grim-faced, he beat the horse back upon the proper path. The beast was panting now, and its black tongue lolled out. The magical demands he was making upon it were physically breaking its body. But he had no choice. Flecks of foam flew back into his eyes. Frustrated, he shook them away and wiped his face upon his red-clothed shoulder as best he could. He couldn't risk unclenching his hands.

He had to keep his eyes open. He had to watch.

He saw the train of the Light vanish underground, and the trap that the Dark had set to spring upon it when it emerged. But instead of the Light, he saw that it was the White Rider that was spewed forth, and upon whom the fury of the Dark fell before it was checked. He laughed, pleased. They were disorganized. So much the better.

Whispering words of magic, he prepared his sword of flame,

He smirked, imagining the expression on Mitothin's face when he broke through the defenses of both Light and Dark and cut the mistletoe blossom for his own. There'd be surprise, anger, and despair. There'd be awe. And reverence.

The terror would be best, though, terror that Sebastian would cast him out of Time along with the Light. Did not the blossom of the mistletoe give him power over all foes? And had not the Grey King claimed all Eternals as his foes? If he had enemies, Mitothin surely counted among them.

Sebastian smiled. Soon, there would be a new world. A world controlled by the Dark, where things never changed and humans lurked at the edges, powerless. He could find himself at home in such a world. No, he was not going to stop the Dark in its quest.

He was going to lead it.

**III.**

The White Rider panted, pain transforming her beautiful features into something hideous and twisted. "He is there," she hissed, "behind us, pursuing us. The children on the train saw him, and now _they_ know." She spat in disgust.

The Black Rider went very still. "So he's finally shown himself, has he? Well, we shall give him a proper welcome." His eyes flickered toward her. "But the children…you didn't have the sense to – make them forget?"

"How could I, with the three of _them_ there? You forget, friend, where I was. And that ninny of a man certainly was helping none."

Mitothin sneered at her. "Your techniques always have been rather unorthodox."

Her eyes hardened. "You know better than anyone how important to our cause my – placement – was. The information I obtained was invaluable. But don't make the mistake of thinking I enjoyed it."

Mitothin threw his head back and laughed. "Of course, my lady. I was forgetting you don't have a heart. But come. The boy Sebastian has become more of a liability than an asset. He's merely a nuisance we have to take care of."

The White Rider's red lips parted eagerly.

"You know what is best for you to do?"

"Oh, yes," she purred. "Yes, indeed."

**IV.**

And so when Sebastian made his assault upon the leaders of the Dark, they were ready for him. If they hadn't been, it is quite likely that things would've turned out much differently.

He was nearly upon them, the ground rushing past faster and faster beneath his horse's hooves. He wasn't riding along the earth, but flying through the sky. He was close enough now that that he was side-by-side with the Dark stragglers. There was a dumpling-shaped girl with rosy cheeks, and a thin, ratty-looking man with the pale face of an artist. The Grey King was nowhere to be seen, but the _milgwn_ rushed by on all sides, yipping madly. And Sebastian felt a jolt when he briefly met the passing gaze of his old friend, Mr. Mirks, no mirth now in that fleshy face. But then he, too, was swept away by the maelstrom of the Dark's pursuit.

But they were all forgotten when Sebastian saw the cold glitter of Mitothin's eyes bearing down upon him.

He yanked on the reins, jerking his horse to an awkward stop. The beast stumbled, its wind broken.

"I did not think to see you again, Sebastian," Mitothin shouted in the high wind, taunting him in a mocking voice. "We thought that a little boy like you would've run away for good." His eyes raked over Sebastian's costume. "I see you have a taste for the theatrical," he snickered, lips curling in an unpleasant smile. "Who knew?"

"Black Rider!" Sebastian screamed in response, drawing back his right arm. "I have come to take my rightful position! I am the Last, and the most powerful! This is my army you're leading!"

The words of Mitothin's reply were ripped away by the wind, but the only challenge Sebastian needed was the answering tilt of that proud chin.

And so drawing upon all his power and strength (which was more than he ever knew), he struck at the Rider with a sword of fire and hate.

The force of the blow was such that it reached through Mitothin's defenses and pierced him full in the arm. The Eternal screamed and reeled, clutching at his stallion's mane, a look of shock on his face. Sebastian sneered. Underestimation, of course, was a potent weapon in his favor.

Fear flickered in Mitothin's eyes, but Sebastian knew he was just wounded, not defeated. He was preparing to move forward and strike again when he checked himself violently, a look of horror upon his face.

_She_ was there.

It was the woman from the Tower, the lady who had smiled upon him the day of his awakening. Her beauty had haunted Sebastian, and he'd often remembered her kindness with a pain of love. And so for a mere second he hesitated, torn between the desire to hurt and urge to kneel before her in worship. For she was holding her arms out to him in supplication, a gentle smile on her lips, tears in her eyes. "Come home, Sebastian," he thought he saw her whisper, the words lost in the stormy wind. "Come home."

And in that single moment of hesitation, Mitothin gathered himself, rode forward, and struck Sebastian a devastating backhand across the face.

The blow of a Lord of the Dark is not quite like that of an ordinary mortal. Sebastian was swept from his horse and hurled into the air. Briefly, he saw the kindness of the woman's face melt away, and cruel, triumphant laughter take its place. And for the first and last time, his heart broke.

His ears filled with the rushing of his cloak snapping in the wind. The red clothe whipped about him, engulfing him so that he could see nothing. Through clouds and stars and galaxies he tumbled, blazing, before crashing into the ground with a jolt that shook the earth.

The pain upon impact was such that he screamed. And his ribs must've been broken, for the screaming brought on a hurt such as he'd never felt before. He choked back his cries as best he could, his body convulsing helplessly.

Any mere human would've have died right there, and been happy to do so. But Sebastian wasn't human, and so could not die. He could only lie as still as possible, and listen to the breath whistle in and out of his punctured lungs.

"Help me…" he whispered, his lips brushing against the earth of the Chiltern Hills. He coughed, and blood splattered against the green grass. "Oh, please, someone help me…I'll do anything…please…"

And help came.


	7. Midsummer's Day

**DARK BIRTHDAY, by Eldrice**

**Standard Disclaimers Apply:** _The Dark is Rising_ universe belongs solely to Susan Cooper. No profit is being made on this story.

**A/N:** I won't even bother apologizing for the two year delay in finishing this last chapter. I'll just say that I finally entered the work force at that time, and got caught up in life. I'm just starting to persuade myself back into writing again.

**Chapter Seven: Midsummer's Day**

"Will's eye came to Barney, and stopped, and he smiled to himself. The younger boy was sitting oblivious to anyone around him, grinning a private grin of pure pleasure in the sensations swirling through his mind. The fear put into him by Glyndwr's men had evaporated, and there was no ounce of nervousness in him now, but only wonder and astonishment and delight.

Barney looked up suddenly as if he knew Will was looking at him; the grin widened and he said, 'It's like the best kind of dream.'

'Yes it is,' said Will. 'But don't…relax into it. You can't trust what will happen.'

'I know,' Barney said equably. 'Honest. I know. But all the same…woo!' It was a head-back, beaming, yelping shout of joyful excitement, spontaneous and startling, and every face turned; their apprehensiveness faded for a moment, and even Merriman, stern for the first instant, laughed aloud. 'Yes!' he said. 'We need that as much as the sword, Barney.'"

-- Susan Cooper, Silver on the Tree

_Help me, please_.

Sebastian's body twisted in an effort to escape the pain. He pressed himself against the Chiltern earth, aching to quench the flame that was devouring him, muscle, bone, and sinew.

_Ripping, rending flesh … insides shredding … spine tearing … _

He screamed into the ground. Dirt tasted bitter against his mouth. Darkness and anguish were everywhere. Pain exploded in bright flashes before his eyes. Was he dying? Or would he live here forever, a broken figure retching into a Chiltern hill? Overhead, the armies of the Dark shrieked as they continued their flapping course against the sky.

And then, the Dark had passed. Sebastian's dim eyes flickered open. The sun was burning high in the sky above him, a concentrated ball of fire that brought him neither warmth nor comfort.

But the brightness did not last long. Gasping, Sebastian rolled his head to one side and watched helplessly as tendrils of fog creeped towards him. The long pale fingers slithered forward and slowly covered his body, until he was shrouded in an impenetrable bank of white.

And then … release. Sebastian couldn't believe it. A cooling white relief was washing through his tortured body. The pain was receding, leaving an exhausted heaviness in its place. His parched lips parted to suck in a delicious drought of pain-free breath. He sighed, almost contented. If he could just be let alone, even that would be a peace of sort. Sleep was the only reward he yearned for now.

The quiet did not last long. Beneath Sebastian, the land was shifting. He squinted his eyes, straining to see better. The outlines of the Chiltern landscape were vanishing into the fog, leaving nothing behind them. Sebastian could no longer feel the ground beneath him, and the ache from a stone that had been jabbing into his ribs suddenly ceased.

Somewhere, a line of music was playing. It was the most beautiful, frightening sound Sebastian had ever heard. He strained toward it, fearful yet hopeful, listening as best he could.

Where was he? What was this place of rest? Sebastian had heard the stories of heaven, but the idea of a cloudy palace in the sky had always struck him as one of mankind's particularly ridiculous delusions. And as a servant of the Dark, he _knew _no such place existed. Why else would he forsake his mortality? Power and life eternal. That was all that mattered. Nothing else. No, not even the pain. Even now, he was more frightened of death than pain, no matter what cost was exacted.

Sebastian suddenly hissed in surprise. Whatever place this was, he was no longer alone. A dark figure was solidifying before him. He watched in horror as a head and limbs formed from nothing, and he dimly wondered if this had been the manner of his own arrival as well. He bit his lip, determined not to be afraid.

"Sebastian? Sebastian Bligh? Hullo? Are you there?"

It was a voice Sebastian knew, although he had never heard it in the flesh before. It was surprisingly natural and amiable. His breath caught, and he let out a choking laugh of disbelief.

"Well," he chuckled weakly, a small shoot of pain surging through his chest. He hissed and gathered himself before continuing. "Will Stanton."

The face was distinct now. Floppy brown hair and blue-grey eyes. Round cheeks and lips that were more boyish than not. It was ridiculously nondescript, given who its owner was.

"Hi," Will Stanton said, giving a hesitant grin, as if they were merely two boys meeting in a school yard at the beginning of term.

"Go away," Sebastian said.

The grin vanished, and the distant blue-grey gaze swept over him uncertainly. Stanton shrugged. "So. The Dark will throw down its own, as well as others."

"So it would seem."

"You can't die, you know. You're not even truly hurt. It's the spells Mitothin put on you, making you feel such things. The Spells of Melynfaen and Mig. They're quite powerful. It must've cost him dear to place them upon you."

"Really? That's interesting. They never taught me anything."

"No, they wouldn't, of course. Neither patience nor compassion are qualities the Dark possess."

"But I can do many things! I learned myself! I can create cold, and freeze people out of time. I can make illusion. And I can fly high on wings of blackness. I have power, pure power. I can do anything… I can …"

Sebastian's voice trailed off, small and helpless. Will Stanton remained silent, rocking back on his heels. His gaze looked politely elsewhere, so the wounded creature of the Dark would not see the pity in his eyes.

This affected nonchalance infuriated Sebastian, and he took refuge in spite.

"Well, perhaps I do not dazzle as brightly as _you_. But at least I am honest about my power, and my hate. I do not make people like me, just so that I may use them for my own selfish ends. I _pity_ that foolish, naïve boy you're manipulating as your little tool. I've never seen anyone more pathetic."

The blue-grey gaze snapped back to him. And for the first time, anger sparked from Will Stanton. "That 'boy' has a name," he said coldly. "It's Bran Davies. And he's not a tool. He's my friend."

"Now you're a liar as well as a fraud. Don't tell me that – "

"_My friend_," the Old One said forcefully, a note of finality in his voice.

The thunder of the words shook something loose inside Sebastian. He stared, hypnotized by the undeniable certainty of the Old One's voice. For the first time, he was realizing that perhaps there was a strength in the world that could not be quantified, could not be defined. He struggled to name it, because words like "love" and "trust" and "friendship" sounded so trite, nothing at all like "power" and "force" and "fear." It had always been much easier to believe in the virtue of brute strength, than to put his faith in the subtler joys of human emotion.

"If that's so," he finally whispered, "the Dark was defeated from the beginning. Everything was always flawed."

Will shrugged. "Perhaps. Not even we can know all the factors that are contributing to this battle."

"A few minutes ago, I was thinking that I had died, and that this place might be heaven."

"You know better than that."

"Oh, yes. A thing such as myself could never belong there." There was just the slightest whiplash of sarcasm in Sebastian's voice.

"Don't be ridiculous. I meant that both you and I know that the afterlife, as it is conceived by humanity, does not exist."

"Hmph. Will, after the Light wins – "

The Old One started and opened his mouth to speak.

"No, listen. I see it now. It will happen. The Light and Dark are equal in strength. But now, the Dark is weakened in three ways. First, I have been made … obsolete. There is a hole in our ranks. Second," – and here Sebastian grinned wickedly, showing his teeth – "the attack I made upon Mitothin was a fierce one. It hurt him, I know it. He must be damaged. And third, if what you say is true, the spells of malice Mitothin cast on me have further weakened him. He cannot be at full strength. His counterattack was too rash. And thus we are thrice weakened, while the Light – "

"While the Light stands strong." Will Stanton's voice was deep and proud, not like a boy's at all.

"Yes. While the Light stands strong." Sebastian met the Old One's gaze and held it. "Will…"

"Yes?"

"When the Light does cut the mistletoe from the tree, you will have so much power. Nothing can stop you. Is … is there anything you could do … for me? Can you save me? Please, I'm … I'm so scared."

A shudder ran through Will Stanton's body. "No, Sebastian," he whispered painfully. "I can't. I'm sorry. Even though you have unwittingly helped the Light, there is only one thing we can do for you – remove the spells Mitothin cast, and your pain. And that is what I came here to do. I _have_ done it. Nothing more is possible."

"But it's not fair!"

"Yes, it is." Will looked away. "It was fair from the beginning. But I will grant you that it is not kind."

The silence stretched for several long moments. At one point, the Old One knelt and took Sebastian's hand. His flesh was surprisingly warm and human in that nowhere place. But his face was beginning to look strained.

"Sebastian, I can't stay here. I've taken us outside Time for these few moments, but it's becoming too difficult. Merriman knows I'm gone, but the others…I have to go back."

He made a movement to stand up, looking tired.

"Before you go, Old One," Sebastian hissed, acting on an unknowable impulse, "just one more thing."

And with a sudden movement, he seized Will Stanton's entire arm and pulled him brutally downwards. The Old One struggled, but was too startled to resist. Sebastian threw an arm about the sturdy shoulders, pulling them close. When their heads were side by side, he put his mouth to Will Stanton's ear, and whispered that which he had never before spoken aloud – _his name_.

As the Dark language slithered into his ear, burning into his brain, Will Stanton shouted hoarsely. With a violent twist, he freed himself and fell to the ground. Scrambling backwards, he looked at Sebastian with an instinctive horror. It was unthinkable. The true name of an Old One or a servant of the Dark was a fiercely guarded secret. Names were power. That a Dark creature should reveal his name to an Old One … it was the ultimate betrayal. By doing so, Sebastian had placed himself entirely at Will Stanton's mercy. It could not have been given out of trust … could it?

Sebastian himself was laughing, wheezing helplessly. "Go now," he gasped, grinning madly. "Go, and take your noble ideas with you. We'll see how noble you are when the final moment before the Tree comes, and you call upon me by name to aid you in the battle. We'll see how noble your idea of friendship is when you betray me."

Will Stanton held the Eternal's gaze for one astonished instant. Despite the manic glee in Sebastian's face, his expression was unreadable. Flickers of desperation came and went, and a sort of pleading look had settled deep into his eyes. That look, hostile yet beseeching, reminded Will of a wounded beast. He couldn't bear it.

Without a word, he heaved himself up and vanished.

Sebastian released a deep sigh. The Old One was gone. His body, which had been rigid and tense, relaxed into exhaustion. The mist cleared. He found himself back on the hill, and the pain did not return. He was simply alone.

With painstaking slowness, he turned his head so that the Midsummer Tree was directly in his sight. And he waited.

And waited.

When the first sprig of mistletoe blossomed, a tear appeared on Sebastian's cheek. Surely now, he thought, with the stakes so high, Will Stanton will betray me. Surely now, he will call upon me by name. And I will have to go, and the act of going will break my body – again. But it will not matter, because everything is over anyway. I have nothing left. Just this hill that I am blubbing into.

By now, the mistletoe was a silver star on the tree, and the Dark's whirling black tornado was descending upon it.

"Blast you, Will Stanton," Sebastian whispered fiercely, unsure what he wanted. "Can't you see Mitothin's coming? What are you waiting for? Exploit me, like you exploit Bran Davies and everyone else. Give me up, like I would give you up. Win, at my expense. _Call me_."

But the call never did come, although the tears fell faster and faster. Sebastian cursed and pleaded. But inside, he felt a strange sense of elation. He had exposed himself to the enemy, giving up everything. And the enemy, for some inexplicable reason, had protected him.

It was a single moment of truth in Sebastian's life. He had this one real connection, a manifestation of trust from an unexpected source.

Was it enough? Did the heart weigh less than a feather?

A great brightness flared in the distance, swinging at the Midsummer Tree. The blossoms were cut. Sebastian knew the Light had won. And as he must, he tumbled backwards out of Time. But who knows what magic is at work in the world? If love is the strongest bond on earth, outside even the High Magic, what power do trust and the mere belief in goodness have?

If we knew where he was, Sebastian Bligh could tell us.


End file.
